


Stay

by Pholo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shiro is seriously wounded, as usual lawl, confessions ensue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 08:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10872996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo
Summary: An alternate version of the season 2 opener, wherein Shiro is more seriously injured and Keith has to hold him together.





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> [V-0-3](https://v-0-3.tumblr.com/) wrote “I need a fic about this right now!! Please! D:” under their [AMAZING AND HEARTBREAKING COMIC](https://v-0-3.tumblr.com/post/160486500077/alternative-version-of-e1s2-special-commission-for), so…HERE YA’ GO!

Keith finds Shiro on a rocky outcrop. He is lying splayed at the edge of a ravine, his helmet discarded beside him in the dirt, blood beading down his breastplate in rivulets.

Shiro’s eyes are glazed when they find Keith’s.

“Keith,” Shiro says, steadily, like Keith is the one in need of reassurance. Keith feels the look of panic on his face; his legs move on their own accord. He staggers over, dropping to his knees beside Shiro’s prone figure, and lets his hands map out the crater in Shiro’s armor. The wound doesn’t appear to have punctured Shiro’s lung, but he’s obviously lost a lot of blood. Shiro’s face is chalk-white, his brow damp with sweat. He cranes his neck, like he can barely remember how to move.

Keith cradles the back of Shiro’s head. Shiro hums, and the noise sounds like an apology.

“Hey,” Keith snaps, as Shiro’s eyes start to close. “Stay with me.” Shiro can’t go to sleep now—he’s in shock. Keith’s right hand, poised over Shiro’s cracked breastplate, is wet with Shiro’s blood. “I…” Keith bunches his fingers together. “I…Oh god.”

“Keith…”

“What should I do?” Keith asks. He can’t think. All Keith registers is the blood on his glove. “What should I do, Shiro?”

Shiro, the fucking bastard, only smiles. His eyes are wet—he must be in a lot of pain. Shiro’s right hand is shaking where it meets Keith’s cheek; his prosthetic fingers are warmer than Keith remembers.

“Don’t worry,” Shiro chokes out. Keith sucks in a breath. “It’ll be fine.”

“It won’t,” Keith rasps, because he knows a goodbye when he hears one. “I won’t let you do this.”

Keith’s chest is aching suddenly, his heart pounding a hole through his ribs. A tear rolls down Shiro’s cheek. And there it is; a sucking sound, barely audible over the rustle of the paladin’s combined breathing. Traumatic pneumo. The noise shakes Keith into action; he curses, colorfully, and reaches down to undo Shiro’s armor.

“Shiro, man, you gotta’ work with me here,” Keith says. Shiro’s fingers slip from Keith’s cheek, the skin stinging where the pads brushed Keith’s jawline. “I’m gonna’ have to…pull this over your head.”

Shiro lifts his arms as Keith raises his breastplate. It’s a slow upward progression, marked by the rattle of Shiro’s breaths. At last the breastplate passes Shiro’s head, and Keith tosses the empty armor aside; there’s a clatter when the metal strikes the rocks. Keith wastes no time. He shirks his own breastplate, tearing off his overshirt and pressing the fabric to Shiro’s torso.

Shiro clenches his teeth. His eyes squeeze shut, and his throat seizes like he’s choking on a scream. Keith can’t afford to let up on the pressure; he’s already operating lightly to prevent air buildup in Shiro’s chest. “I’m sorry,” Keith says, over and over. “It’s okay, it’s okay, shh…”

If Keith does this the slightest bit wrong, Shiro will bleed out. He will surrender to shock. His right lung will collapse. Keith wishes he had a proper bandage, a coat, a radio signal…“Come on, baby, just a little longer,” he whispers. Keith barely notices the endearments as they trip out of his mouth. “Come on, sweetheart, please. Come on. You can do this. I know you can do this…”

Keith adjusts his weight on Shiro’s wound, and this time Shiro doesn’t flinch at the motion. His eyes are barely open.

Shiro raises his arms by degrees, the gesture weak but deliberate—and sets his hands atop Keith’s bloodied fingers. His touch is soft and heavy with exhaustion.

Shiro’s breath stutters once as he inhales.

“I love you.”

Keith is crying. He hates himself for it. Through the tears, Keith’s gaze stays locked on Shiro’s. His fingers are cold and quaking under Shiro’s grasp.

Shiro’s expression is soft.

“Don’t worry,” he says again.

Keith can’t speak. A sob hitches out of his throat.

Shiro continues, past the pain: “When I’m gone…I want you to lead Voltron.”

“No,” Keith manages. He shakes his head. “Don’t talk like that. You’re gonna’ make it.”

“I…”

“Don’t,” Keith insists. He leans down into Shiro’s space, keeping the pressure on his chest consistent. “You don’t get to die on me, Shiro.”

But Shiro’s eyes are closed. Keith cries at him as the Green Lion breaks through the clouds.


End file.
